


The-Boy-Who-Didn't

by The_Shroud



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, Harry Potter Dies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-15
Updated: 2019-07-19
Packaged: 2020-03-06 02:05:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18841408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Shroud/pseuds/The_Shroud
Summary: Heavily AU. Harry died along with Voldemort. The rest follows simply, as a war not between Voldemort and Dumbledore, but between the chaos of change and the old, obsolete form of order, that becomes about so much more than just a war.





	1. The End of a War

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first chapter of a new work. Please review on whatever you can, suggestions, ideas, etc. This story would have explored an idea I had, of what would happen if Harry had died. But then I realized it wasn't different enough. So I created a ton of AU elements, and be assured that any difference between this and canon is not an oversight. Enjoy!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer:
> 
> I do not own Harry Potter. I do not own Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them. I do not own anything related to J. K. Rowling in general, or Harry Potter specifically. Not a single DVD of the Harry Potter movies.

Evening, 1981

Godric's Hallow

His cloaked figure, that of Lord Voldemort, approached a house, where, according to prophecy, one who may have the power to 'vanquish' him resided. When using this appearance, he looked very gaunt and bony, his fingers like claws, lacking any skin pigment, rather tall, seven and a half feet about, with the 'whites' of his eyes red-orange, as though they were bloodshot with the red and white interchanged, his iris black as his pupils. He remembered his birth.

He had been born on December 31. The day before the new year. The midnight before the dawn. The darkness that preceded the light. He supposed it was poetic, now that he had chosen a path to carve out, one way or the other, in gold, or in blood.

After rising wards of his own to prevent escape, he unraveled the existing wards upon the house within minutes, although alerting those within and sacrificing stealth for speed, and burst into the hall. The mother, carrying the boy, had just ran upstairs, and the father remained to give them a few more seconds. Wandless, the father was defeated swiftly with a killing curse of Lord Voldemort. He then proceeded upstairs, remembering his own upbringing.

What was not poetic had been living in the orphanage. Every person attempted at every possible moment to exert their power over him. The adults, the other children, and so would the parents that came to look, even if in a different form. It still had two benefits. First, that he had all the time possible to think, and think he did. Second, that it taught him something important about power and morality. That there was no good, no evil, merely those who had power... and those who were too weak to seek it. Thus, for so long, he had sought it. Only to realize... he had it all along. He merely needed to apply it.

Upstairs, finding a room barricaded with furniture, he forced his way in. There, he found them, the mother guarding her son's cot. She begged him to spare the boy for her own life. Sentiment. An attachment without benefit. Both the mother and the boy were potential threats to him, and there was nothing to be gained from sparing them. Except, his servant had chosen, as his favor for assisting the Dark Lord, to have the mother given a choice. More sentiment. He had never cared for it.

He had known he was different, he had known he was special. Always, he knew there was something. He once thought it was just his imagination, or that he had no interest in the vile blinder that was sentiment. With these abilities, he now knew what else. He could make things move, without the faintest touch. He could make animals do what he wanted, without the slightest training. He could hurt people, when they annoyed him. He finally had something to rely upon. He had attained it through experimentation to the limits, pushing every boundary.

But it had been what his servant chose. Three times, he insisted that she move aside. The third time, he then struck her down with the same curse used on her husband. He moved forth, approaching the child, who was on the verge of crying, and yet looked into his eyes almost bravely. Lord Voldemort considered the use of a horcrux to possibly ensure victory whether the child killed him or he killed the child, but it had been dangerous enough the first time, and would likely have more unpredictable effects than usual for soul magic if part of a prophecy. No, the form of soul magic in a prophecy was dangerous enough without that of horcruxes. He could not risk any waste of time, for others would come, likely sent by Dumbledore. He could not afford to delay, if the prophecy were true. It referred to him as simply 'the Dark Lord', though his title in full was 'Lord Voldemort.' He remembered when and why he chose it.

But though he had power, he wanted to give it a name, so he understood that it was not him, it was just a tool he could wield. An aspect of himself, not to be attached to, any more than he was attached to the orphanage. He was writing his name one day, when the idea of an anagram struck him. And he found such an anagram. It was fitting... his full name became the sentence, "I am Lord Voldemort." 'Vol de mort', flight of death, in French, as he had forced himself to learn, with many other things, using all his time. Both escaping death, and spreading death.

He rose his wand, and fired a third killing curse that night, to defeat the protection wards he instinctively sensed, without expecting to use enough soul magic to be entirely unpredictable combined with the prophecy. But in his haste, he missed that both the curse and the wards were also forms of soul magic, if utilized in different manners. Combining the soul magic involved in said sacrificial protection wards, killing curse, the prophecy, and the boy's core, a feedback loop of sorts ensued. The magic of the sacrificial protection wards, feeding upon the child's core, the magic of the prophecy, and the core of Lord Voldemort, began to increase uncontrollably, attempting to stop the killing curse through any means it could. Lord Voldemort, realizing that the wards themselves were also soul magic, and that a feedback loop started, attempted and failed to stop the drain on his magic. No matter, he had a horcrux. He quickly decided to feed into it, either to become more powerful, stop it in a controlled manner, or end it fatally before anyone came, sensed the soul magic, and started guessing of its reason, potentially discovering that he had a horcrux. His capability of reaching a quick decision had always been great.

He could be great. But greatness inspires envy, envy engenders spite, and spite spawns lies. But lying about a lie spawns the truth. Could he not live by two names, his greatness in the form of Lord Voldemort, spreading lies, and his knowledge in the form of Tom Riddle? But did he really want to be Riddle, the orphan?

Eventually, the loop broke, as did the magic of the wards, curse, and prophecy, overloaded beyond reason. The residual excess magic did not dissipate enough, and caused a small explosion of pure energy, burning the nearby surroundings within an instant. Two more people had died that night, but the one who did not stay dead was not Harry Potter.

\-----=====-----+++++-----=====-----~~~~~-----=====-----+++++-----=====-----

Morning, One day after the Dark Lord's death, 1981

A motorcycle flew down at terrifying speeds, slowing to a halt. The rider, sent by his former Headmaster, approached the ruin of a house, running desperately. He frantically unlocked and opened the door, with his wand out to protect himself or heal any survivors.

In the hall, he found his best friend, James Potter, lying dead, drawing out a sob of emotion. He continued upstairs, eyes full of tears, finding James' wife Lily Evans Potter, a wand charred to a crisp by a powerful explosion, and the bodies of Voldemort and James' and Lily's son, Harry, each burnt almost beyond recognition by some explosion, but not quite.

He, Sirius Black, fell to his knees, and did the only thing he could think of, with the last shreds of hope he had falling away. He wept, for James, Lily, and Harry, and for his failure to be there when he was needed most, his failure to realize the truth about the rat, his failure to accept one burden, the burden of being secret keeper, for what felt to be his cowardice, his pride, and his stupidity, blaming himself.

\-----=====-----+++++-----=====-----~~~~~-----=====-----+++++-----=====-----

Evening, Two days after the Dark Lord's death, 1981

Order of the Phoenix Headquarters

"Is it true, Albus? Lily, James, and Harry... are dead?" Minerva, his deputy headmistress, asked morosely. He remembered the first day he met Tom, when, if not innocent, he was still simply a child.

He had went into the orphanage. The person working there spoke harshly of the potential student, Riddle. It was likely a lie; muggles and wizards all too often failed to get along even subconsciously, he would know, after it caused his sister to develop an obscurus.

The Order of the Phoenix had been summoned, and the meeting had just started. He, Albus Dumbledore, responded solemnly, "Yes, they were betrayed by their secret keeper, Peter Pettigrew, who the Ministry is searching for now. Somehow, possibly due to failed sacrificial protections, when Voldemort killed their son, there was a magical backlash, and he too appears to have died," withholding his suspicions of Tom's survival, trying to prevent a worse air of despair. Tom had always been capable of many things, as he had known the first day they met.

He walked into Tom's room. From that moment, just by looking around, he could tell Tom was a suspicious child, further deepening his own worries. From Tom's manner of speech, and what he spoke, this was only confirmed more. Tom was intelligent, having already guessed at possibly being a wizard, clearly making various deductions, though without speaking any out loud, and remarkably capable in magic without a wand.

Unfortunately, he could not inform the Ministry of anything more than suspicions that Peter was an animagus, to avoid revealing that Sirius was unregistered, or to draw attention to the fact that Remus was a werewolf. Claiming Peter learned it as a party trick would not only imply James, Sirius, and Remus knew and obstructed the law, but be implausible, as Peter was not capable enough to do so. Animagus transformations were complicated, not simply flashy and impressive. He remembered a flashy spell he had used to attract Tom's attention.

He chose a flashy, truly impressive spell, for that was the kind Tom was in awe of, not the party trick style generally used. He had noticed Tom was stealing, and so assured him he wouldn't have to steal at Hogwarts, a variety dishes could be provided to him at a moment's notice when he was hungry.

With the last statement, a glimmer of hope began to shine softly in the eyes of many sitting there. "Does that mean the war is over?" asked one of the younger recruits hopefully. He had seen that same glimmer of hope when he made that promise to Tom.

He was able to help Tom on a variety of things, the two quickly forming a bond, even becoming close like a father and a son, causing him to promise Tom he would attempt to get him out of the orphanage. When he got back, he essentially pleaded with the headmaster at the time, Armando Dippet, to find a way to legally move Tom somewhere safe. At the time, he thought Tom was muggleborn, so any test of blood was not thought of. Dippet said no, and so Dumbledore watched as Tom was forced to stay at the orphanage, year after year.

"Is the war is over, and you get to go home, just 'cause the leader is dead? His Death Eaters are still on the loose." snarled Alastor. Tom had snarled in a similarly sarcastic manner the day before he had to go back.

Tom blamed him, and saw it as a betrayal, remaining cold and distant ever since. Had he not given him that false hope, had he not gotten so close, had he kept searching anyway, had he been more selfish and told Tom the reason why, rather than let Tom feel it was a betrayal because he wanted to be professional and not go against the headmaster... maybe some of this could have been avoided, much as he could not have known, much as Tom already had darkness in his heart.

Albus responded gently, "Yes, Alastor is correct. We must continue to be vigilant. I already have suspicions they plan for a new attack, upon the Longbottoms." Pausing once everyone straightened up at the news, he commanded, "Rather than risk the Fidelius, it would be best for Alastor, Elphias, and Dedalus to protect them over the course of the next months."

\-----=====-----+++++-----=====-----~~~~~-----=====-----+++++-----=====-----

Evening, late 1981

Alastor reported bitterly, "Four Death Eaters, the Lestranges and Crouch Jr., attacked Longbottom Manor at midnight yesterday. They seemed to think that the Longbottoms knew what happened to Voldemort. Longbo- Frank, refused to stay inside, going out to defend against them. He was hit by a dark curse sent by Bellatrix, but not before he got Rodolphus, falling in the line of duty. Bellatrix, Barty, and Rabastan have been captured, and are going on trial before the Ministry. As for the other Death Eaters, so far they've all either gone into hiding, or been caught and either imprisoned or not, if they used some fancy language, claimed Imperius or other and gave a nice lining to the Minister's pocket. The corrupt bastard."

He, Albus, nodded sagely, and stated, "Then, with all of this, it appears that the war is over."

\-----=====-----+++++-----=====-----~~~~~-----=====-----+++++-----=====-----

Albania

Afternoon, Over Nine and a Half years since the Dark Lord's death, Middle of 1991

He walked through the forest, searching for the Dark Lord, to capture and perhaps even learn from him. He heard a twig snap behind him, and turned around abruptly in fright. A wraith-like figure spoke, "Hello, Quirinus. You shall serve a crucial purpose for me now." He fell to the ground, unconscious for having fainted in fright.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N:
> 
> And that concludes the first chapter of The-Boy-Who-Didn't. This story will focus mainly on the war with Dumbledore and Voldemort.


	2. The Loss of a Stone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer:
> 
> I do not own Harry Potter. I do not own Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them. I do not own anything related to J. K. Rowling in general, or Harry Potter specifically. Not a single DVD of the Harry Potter movies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N:
> 
> The second chapter! Please review on whatever you can, suggestions, ideas, etc. I hope this works as a satisfactory sequel to the last chapter, overviewing what Lord Voldemort does next while explaining some of the fallout of the last chapter, and provides anticipation for the next. Enjoy!

Evening, Late 1991

Hogwarts, Great Hall

As the sorting finished, his deputy headmistress, Minerva, rolled up her scroll and took the Sorting Hat away as he, Albus Dumbledore, got to his feet. He beamed at the students, his arms opened wide, for nothing could please him more than to see the students all there, acting as is normal for students. He remembered teaching Tom, when he was simply poor, but brilliant, parent-less, but so brave, a school prefect, a model student, and had not yet decided to go forth with his latter monstrosities.

"Welcome!" he said. "Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words, and here they are: Blubber! Moron! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you!" As these last four words were not only the opposite of the four houses' traits but spelled the word 'tomb' backwards, he instantly remembered an older line of thought, in which he feared he would be forced to send Tom to his tomb, if the monstrous identity he had chosen as Lord Voldemort could not be undone. Tom would never accept imprisonment, he had always been too ambitious, too restless.

Albus began to eat carefully. Eventually, Minerva started talking with him concerning school matters. While listening, he looked to his sides at the High Table. Hagrid was drinking deeply from his large goblet. Quirinus, in his fashionable turban, was talking to Severus. Strangely, Quirinus twitched his left hand in a particular manner that Albus had only seen Tom perform, though it was likely coincidence. Eventually, as his conversation with Minerva ended, and at last the desserts too disappeared, he got to his feet again. The hall fell silent. Almost as silent as the world had felt when he realized Voldemort was Tom, and longer ago, when he saw his sister die.

Despite these memories, he spoke clearly and good-humoredly, "Ahem - just a few more words now that we are all fed and watered. I have a few start-of-term notices to give you. First years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. A few of our older students would do well to remember that as well," as his twinkling eyes flashed in the direction of the Gryffindor table. He remembered one of Tom's final victims, James, would regularly go out to the forest, despite any rules and regulations, generally along with his friends.

He continued somewhat amused, "I have also been asked by Mister Filch, the caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors. Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of the term. Anyone interested in playing for their house team should contact Madam Hooch." Tom had never been interested in flying. According to his reasoning, it was not an efficient sport in terms of exercise of the body, mind, or magic. Tom insisted on being as practical as possible, always. He found it fascinating at the time, as Tom was a child, but it had led to Tom's skill causing many deathly defeats.

Now, this was the one significant change of his customary speech, as he finalized, "And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death. And now, before we go to bed, let us sing the school song!" cried Dumbledore, attempting to distract the students from his previous statement. There were various kinds of mechanisms safe-guarding the stone. Sadly, the other teachers' smiles had become rather fixed, almost as though they didn't like the song, though that idea was quite preposterous. Even Tom liked it, said he liked it even better than socializing with others in Slytherin.

Albus gave his wand a little flick, as if he were trying to get a fly off the end, and a long golden ribbon flew out of it, which rose high above the tables and twisted itself, snakelike, into words. He twitched at the reminder of Tom's favorite animal.

"Everyone pick their favorite tune," said Dumbledore, distracting himself, "and off we go!"

"Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy Warty Hogwarts,

Teach us something, please,

Whether we be old and bald

Or young with scabby knees,

Our heads could do with filling

With some interesting stuff,

For now they're bare and full of air,

Dead flies and bits of fluff,

So teach us things worth knowing,

Bring back what we've forgot,

Just do your best, we'll do the rest,

And learn until our brains all rot."

Everybody finished the song at different times. At last, only the Weasley twins were left singing along to a very slow funeral march. He conducted their last few lines with his wand, and when they had finished, he was one of those who clapped loudest.

"Ah, music," he said, wiping his eyes, leaving behind his thoughts of Tom for now. "A magic beyond all we do here. And now, bedtime! Off you trot!" Personally, he retreated to his quarters.

Fawkes was asleep, so he went over to his desk, where Fawkes had already delivered his mail. An article caught his eye for a moment, but then he saw the title, 'Events since the Dark Lord's Defeat to Celebrate.' Much as Tom had gone down the wrong path, he had been more than a Dark Lord, just as Gellert. He remembered what had happened since Tom's death. Nothing.

Much as the Ministry claimed about change, it simply kept the same old policies as before, the same discrimination, the same stubbornness, and the same futility. In his rare darker moods, light enough as they still were, he would wonder savagely if perhaps Tom staying alive for longer might have forced them to put the necessary changes into effect. But true good could not be achieved through evil, merely different imperfections.

Then there was the possibility Tom was alive, as Severus' Dark Mark had not faded as they suspected it would, according to what they could tell about the charm used in it. He remembered planning with Nicholas to bait him using the philosopher's stone. They would have a variety of puzzles and challenges to ensure only Tom himself would get through, as well as an age line to avoid students getting in too far, perhaps around the trap door under the Cerberus. At the final layer, the real philosopher's stone would be inside the Mirror of Erised, as Tom would sense a fake far too early to be captured. Nicholas would be there when he wasn't, and vice versa.

\-----=====-----+++++-----=====-----~~~~~-----=====-----+++++-----=====-----

Later that night

Hogwarts, Quirrell's Office

In the retreat of his, or their, mind, as his companion started working on grading papers for the class he once considered using as a front, he raised several occlumency barriers to protect his surface thoughts in addition to memories and so. He could sense his prize, the stone, was on the third floor, matching the headmaster's warning. Together with the horcrux, the stone would be helpful in living for a long time to come, though it could be risky. If it failed, he could be as patient as he was ten years ago, when he stayed a wraith as his notoriety died down enough for people not to suspect his continued existence, though this time it would be more doubtful about whether he had done anything, meaning he need not wait for ten years, simply finding a weak-willed and secluded enough, or willing enough, host and using it.

\-----=====-----+++++-----=====-----~~~~~-----=====-----+++++-----=====-----

Midnight, Early 1992

Hogwarts, Third Floor

He, Quirinus Quirrell, had arrived at the third floor, right before the correct door. The person who had taken control of his actions took over his body, the eyes turning red with blood vessels appearing white as his iris turned blacker than his pupil, opened the lock and various wards swiftly, knowing there would be a variety of techniques later that would make any current stealth useless. His hands were used to pull it open, and his body swooped inside.

The Cerberus, 'Fluffy,' was just as huge as Quirinus remembered. All three heads locked onto Voldemort, his abuser, three horrible noses sniffing at him, three rumbling growls warning him away. Voldemort began a song, using an enchanted harp.

Fluffy tottered from side to side and then fell to his knees before slumping to the ground. Snores began to drown out the beautiful harp, and it was clear he was asleep. The dog's hot breath washed over him, and drool slipped from its mouths.

His eyes instantly found a trapdoor. His left hand, carrying a wand, flicked upwards with precision, and the trapdoor flew open. The hole revealed was dark and foreboding, but his eyes were somehow able to peer through it and see a soft plant of some kind, that he felt Voldemort realize was not dangerous immediately. Without ado, his legs hopped lightly into the square of blackness. About two seconds later that felt like minutes in the darkness, his feet made a muffled, funny-sounding thump as he landed. All around him was gloom and darkness.

As his head moved around, his eyes attuned to the darkness, seeing a huge plant, with vines and tendrils everywhere, that he recognized as Devil's Snare, but also somehow recognizing it had various charms preventing death and most forms destruction. Subtly, sneakily, vines had crept up in the darkness and were moving to ensnare them, drawing a spark of extreme irritation and a small bit of anger from Voldemort.

Quirrell's left hand flicked out from by his side, silently casting a powerful spell, that of fiendfyre. Bright orange flames leaped from the tip, creating a large snake that devoured everything inside the room, drawing a savage joy from Voldemort, before wrapping back around his body, yet staying distinct from it, and fizzling out.

His feet immediately walked to the only way forward, down the sloping stone passageway, nothing to be heard except the sound of their own breathing and the gentle drip of water trickling down the walls. The light at the end of the corridor beckoned to his eyes, though it was currently blinding to a degree.

His ears easily heard a fluttering, rustling, clinking sound from up ahead. It came from a brilliantly lit chamber, its ceiling arching high above their heads. It was filled with small birds, bright like jewels, fluttering and tumbling all around the room. On the opposite wall, there was a plain, heavy wooden door. He saw that the 'birds' were in fact keys with wings, but this thought drew amusement from the Dark Lord he feared.

Voldemort thought to him, 'Isn't it obvious? All these keys... why would any one of them need to work? He could have one on his own person, enchanted to be the only thing that opens the lock. It's a foolish diversion, to distract anyone lesser than myself. The whole set-up is a well planned trap, with the stone as a very real prize, to capture myself and myself specifically.'

Voldemort used his hand to wave his wand, drawing bits of dust from the previous and current room, transfiguring the dust into thin, sharp, shards of glass, and sending them as a swarm to rip apart the wings of the keys, preventing them from possibly blocking his path.

He blasted the door open swiftly, as torchlight suddenly flooded the new room, blinding Quirrell, but revealing an astonishing sight.

The two stood on the edge of a huge chessboard, behind the black pieces, which were all taller than they, and carved from onyx. Across the way were the white pieces, spooky and ominous; creepy, for the flickering torchlight revealed that the white chessmen had no faces.

Quirrell thought, 'This will occupy the Dark Lord's time. Perhaps then Albus will arrive soon enough to save me fr-'

'No. You have no escape. This diversion is easily defeatable, as this tests my power to ensure I am Voldemort where the previous two tested my ingenuity in short periods of time and my skill. That shall leave the mind and sentiment. The purpose here in these chambers is precisely to lure me and only me in, but I expect that, and shall avoid it.'

His wand was dropped, and Voldemort siphoned his magic and that of the surroundings, as his body deformed slightly into Voldemort's original form, drawing the chess pieces' ire. Voldemort swiftly bent the charms upon the black pieces, that already had charms for subservience, forcing them with his power to fight back, creating a chess battle swifter, deadlier, and more chaotic than any other. Due to their meager attempts to fight back against his powerful control, they were not as skilled as they were, still managing to leave only the white queen and king, while he forced the black king to move back to stay in the previous room.

Voldemort started to have a menacing grin, filled with excitement, while Quirinus fought back. Voldemort proceeded to use two back-to-back precise severing charms to decapitate the Queen and make her drop her sword. Quirrell's now deformed body sloped back quickly below the king's sword, as his hands picked up the Queen's sword and stabbed it backwards, hitting the center of the King's spine, 'killing' it.

His left hand attempted to open the next door, only to find what smelled like a troll blocked the way. His left hand extended out, forcing the door open and pushing the troll far enough for him to slip through. Unfortunately, this woke up the troll who rose-- and was dead from a sword embedded into its heart.

Discarding the sword as being a mere convenience, his puppet master pushed onward into the next room. The room the two were now in contained nothing very frightening at all. There was only a table with seven differently shaped bottles standing on it in a line, with black flames that were crackling in the doorway leading onward. His hands picked up a piece of parchment, reading,

'Danger lies before you, while safety lies behind,

Two of us will help you, whichever you would find,

One among us seven will let you move ahead,

Another will transport the drinker back instead,

Two among our number hold only nettle wine,

Three of us are killers, waiting hidden in line.

Choose, unless you wish to stay here forevermore,

To help you in your choice, we give you these clues four:

First, however slyly the poison tries to hide,

You will always find some on nettle wine's left side;

Second, different are those who stand at either end,

But if you would move onward, neither is your friend;

Third, as you see clearly, all are different size,

Neither dwarf nor giant hold death in their insides;

Fourth, the second left and the second on the right

Are twins once you taste them, th-'

And the parchment was crumbled and tossed into the flames, burning quickly to a crisp, as he tried to finish reading the last line, as Voldemort confidently walked forward using his legs, picked a bottle up, projecting dryly, 'Severus always did like the number three.' The foul drink spilled past his lips into his mouth, and Quirrell wanted to gag at the taste, but Voldemort was relentless. It was as though ice were flooding his body. His legs stepped forward into the flames, and continued past them. Though Quirrell braced himself subconsciously, he could feel nothing.

His eyes saw nothing but black flames. It was rather like he imagined stepping into a black hole might feel. Complete, baffling, disorienting darkness engulfed him. There was suddenly no stone floor beneath his feet. He couldn't feel the walls around him. He panicked briefly, but Voldemort, irritated, forced him to relax. Then he was on the other side, in the last chamber.

His eyes flickered around, taking in the rich, finished marble. The room didn't look so much assembled as carved from the very rock of the Earth. Torches flamed to life, illuminating a great empty room with a famous object in it, the Mirror of Erised. He saw happiness with his friends at Hogwarts, a peaceful but successful life witho- 'Tricks, mere tricks. It is an image to distract one. Where is the st- Baffled, Quirrell sensed shock, and then genuine amusement from Voldemort. His lips parted, and a sound came from his throat, a cackling. 'Is it not clear, oh poor, stammering Quirrell?! I thought but two rooms ago he would try to provide a test of sentiment, based on desire, something he did not expect I would possibly pass. Yet, I brought you here, something he did not expect... and you care about people. So now, think about the stone, and how you don't desire it, think abo-'

As much as he tried to control the direction of his thoughts, they still reached the stone, and how he genuinely didn't desire it. It plopped into his right hand, which Voldemort had transformed back, and left to his control. He tried to crush it, but it was too robust. His left hand pried it fro his right, and he lost control of his right hand again.

Suddenly, from a hidden section that opened up, he heard a very aged voice cry, "Petrificus totalus! Stupefy!"

Voldemort turned and batted the jets of light away in disinterest. He saw Nicholas Flamel, who promptly snapped his fingers, causing ropes to attempt to encircle him, but Voldemort neatly sidestepped them, before blasting Flamel against the far wall, eliciting a cry of pain from the alchemist as he crumpled to the floor. Quirrell's mouth spoke incredulously, "Did you think you could defeat me alone?!"

Flamel retorted, "I believe I worked as a distraction," confusing him and Voldemort until his body turned to be caught by a stunning spell that he mostly deflected despite the surprise, and powered through the rest, though tiring immensely from it, falling to the floor and dropping the stone through his fingers.

Another old voice spoke from the entryway he faced, "Hello again, Tom."

He felt his eyes narrow as his headmaster frowned in sadness, speaking in sorrow, "Oh, Qurinius, what has Tom done to you? If only you-"

Voldemort interrupted, "I've given him a chance to be part of something more. Now, let me leave with the stone, or I'll bury him within my subconscious forever."

Dumbledore refused, "I can't let you go, Tom. To do so, I'd be letting far too many die. I implore you, pleas-"

Voldemort snapped, "Please what?! Give this up, when I've chosen to do so much already? I will follow through, and I will succeed." Quirrell sensed Voldemort coming to a decisive choice.

His left hand turned itself to his chest, before unleashing a severing charm, cutting a long gash across his chest, causing immense pain and bringing out a gasp of pain as he fell to his knees, as Voldemort used a Reductor curse upon the stone Flamel was grasping for, causing it to explode into a fine mist. As Flamel gasped in loss, Voldemort's wraith left him to go downwards, hitting him with the full force of the pain, but giving him back full power over his body again.

Quirell sobbed in pain, but also in joy at finally escaping Voldemort's influence. He profusely apologized to Dumbledore, "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I never should have..." Though Dumbledore assured him he understood, he continued up till a faint whisper, before stopping to gasp for breath while bleeding out. He whispered to Dumbledore one last statement in agony, "At least, I'm happy he's finally gone. I've finally escaped, I'm... free," as he slipped down into blackness. Down, down, down...

\-----=====-----+++++-----=====-----~~~~~-----=====-----+++++-----=====-----

In the Ravenclaw Dormitories

In a bed, a girl with blond hair was sleeping with a serene smile, before her eyes suddenly flew open in shock. She gasped for air, before her face assumed a puzzled expression, until smirking in oddly enthusiastic happiness. She slowly went back to sleep, now with a smirk instead of her usually tranquil smile, as her left hand twitched in a particular manner.

\-----=====-----+++++-----=====-----~~~~~-----=====-----+++++-----=====-----

Afternoon, Middle of 1992

He was sorting through his library, before pausing after finding a diary given to him by his master. His master and his cause were dead, for now, and for likely a good time to come. The Wizarding World may not advance into a golden age, where muggles were wiped out, in his generation, he realized, so Lucius Malfoy decided to find a way, in case of someone in the Ministry somehow managing an inspection, to get rid of the book...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N:
> 
> And that concludes the second chapter of The-Boy-Who-Didn't! Who expected what and how? Next chapter introduces/utilizes an important plot point, hinted at very vaguely here and last chapter, but probably not clear enough to guess.


	3. The Return of A Basilisk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The third chapter! Please review on whatever you can, suggestions, ideas, etc. I hope this works as a satisfactory sequel to the last chapter, explaining some of the hints in the last chapter, and also provides anticipation for the next. Enjoy!

_Evening, Late 1992_

_Hogwarts_

Something was shining on the wall ahead. She and the other students approached slowly, squinting through the darkness. They had all come running at the cries of Hogwarts' caretaker. Foot-high words had been daubed on the wall between two windows, shimmering red in the light cast by the flaming torches.

THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN OPENED

ENEMIES OF THE HEIR BEWARE

Someone's jaw dropped. "W-what's that thing? There, hanging underneath?" His voice was quavering.

Together the students all edged nearer, and she almost slipped in the puddle of water on the floor. She fell with a small cry before getting back up alone, no one paying attention to her, just inching ever closer. Their eyes were fixed on the dark shadow beneath the bloody message. As one, the others came to comprehension, and they fell back, some also landing in the large puddle, with a splash.

Mrs. Norris, the pet cat of the caretaker, Argus Filch, was hanging by her tail from the torch bracket. She was stiff as a board, her eyes wide and staring, while Filch himself was standing underneath, crying in sadness, thinking she was dead.

For a few seconds, no one could move. As the professors approached, urging all of them to return to their dormitories, Luna remembered vaguely doing something earlier. Sh-She remembered, remembered -

* * *

_Earlier_

Her body was in the girls' bathroom, her eyes, the whites a peculiar orange and the iris charcoal black, looking at a peculiar faucet while her lips moved. Yet, her own words didn't come out, but rather strange hissing, from the entity that was in control. It was like a wrackspurt, changing how she acted... but  _different_.

* * *

Her mouth hissed again, speaking to something, an animal, a  _snake_. Could it even be... a...?

* * *

She slowly and elegantly painted the walls with the blood of roosters, smiling slightly, almost dancing. Her hands took the cat, which was cold and rigid like stone, and hanged it by the tail from the torch bucket. She made her way done the ladder, almost whistling, even though she didn't know  _how_  to whistle, her left hand twitching in a particular manner [1].

* * *

Bewildered by the flood of memories, she dreamily went along with her fellow Ravenclaws, too confused and insecure to do anything else, with no one paying her a second  _thought_.

* * *

_Later that month_

_In the Gryffindor Dormitories_

Ginny sat down on her bed, having returned from the ending feast of the day. She picked up a diary from the side, opening it and beginning to write in it. "Hi, Tom."

He figuratively smiled, even though he had no physical form beyond the diary. It was a joy to be able to communicate with someone else, anyone else. He responded through the ink on the pages, "Hello Ginny. How has your day been?"

Tom could sense her deliberation, "Fine."

Again. Something had happened earlier that month, and he didn't know  _what_ , but it was affecting her, making her nervous, less responsive, and he was never fond of those moments when someone knew something he didn't. He inquired skeptically, though delicately, "Are you sure there isn't anything?"

Hesitation. Tom waited as the seconds practically ticked away before she finally caved in and started to explain... about the Chamber of Secrets.

* * *

_Soon thereafter_

Ginny had finished. It was a troublesome issu- "Tom? Tom, are you still there?"

Knowing that ignoring her could only lead to more interruptions, he calmed her down, "Yes, don't worry. I just need a minute to think."

The Chamber of Secrets. Somewhere he had once been, long ago, when he was cut off and  _forced_  into the diary. He had no other contact for many, many years, until that day on the Hogwarts Express...

* * *

_Noon, Middle 1992_

_Hogwarts Express_

Tom could sense he was being moved around a lot. Perhaps to be destroyed, perhaps to be preserved, perhaps to be reabsorbed, or any multitude of things. Then, someone opened the diary, and wrote across the top of a page, "Ginny Weasley's Diary."

This was unexpected. As the ink on the page faded from view, he felt her being startled. He introduced himself cautiously, "Hello, Ginny. My name is Tom Riddle."

* * *

They had slowly began to trust each other. Now, one of his darkest secrets would have to be revealed, if he wanted to tell her about what we knew, and if he wanted to get her help in getting to the bottom of it. He would have to tell her he was Voldemort, that he was a horcrux, all of it.

Tom mentally sighed, and began, "Ginny, there are some secrets I haven't shared with you. In relation to the Chamber, I think I should tell you a few more of them..."

* * *

_Midnight, Early 1993_

_Hogwarts, Chamber of Secrets_

Another person raised a wand and moved forward between the serpentine columns. Every careful footstep echoed loudly off the shadowy walls. They kept their eyes narrowed, ready to clamp them shut at the smallest sign of movement. The hollow eye sockets of the stone snakes magically followed this intruder upon the ritual.

As they drew level with the last pair of pillars, a statue as high as the Chamber itself loomed into view, standing against the back wall. It was ancient and monkey-ish, with a long, thin beard that fell almost to the bottom of the wizard's sweeping stone robes, where two enormous grey feet stood on the smooth Chamber floor. Filtered light lit a circle on the stone floor at the statue's feet, and Luna was lying in the center.

They slowly approached Luna's still form. He, Lord Voldemort, could sense they knew the one who brought Luna down here, himself, was intelligent, even that this was most likely a trap. The girl did look like bait. They stepped forward slowly, holding a wand very tightly in the right hand and carrying a very specific diary in their left. He saw the person appeared to be Ginerva Weasley. A first-year.

"Luna!" she whispered, nudging her with her own foot. She didn't move. "Luna, wake up!"

He spoke up, "She won't wake." Jumpy, Ginny spun around, pointing her wand at the source. Lord Voldemort, in his natural appearance without any transfigurations, glamours, or tricks, was standing there. He was a tall, black-haired man, and leaned against the nearest pillar, watching. He sensed using Luna's magic that Ginny saw him as strangely blurred around the edges, as though looking at him through a misted window, but there was... no mistaking him. No mistaking him for who?

Both he and Ginny were confused, but she spoke first, "Tom? How are you here? What do you mean she won't wake? We're in an awful lot of danger, Tom. There's a basilisk down here."

Lord Voldemort didn't move, still confused. Ginny stared at him, but stumbled a bit and looked over suddenly at a fainter view of him. He quickly realized that the diary she had not only looked like, but  _was_  his horcrux, which he had split from his soul both for immortality and to remove the weaker parts of him, the parts that had weaknesses like  _compassion_. She asked, "Why are there two of you?"

His doppelganger understood, and explained to her, "He's not me. He's Voldemort. That's why he's been petrifying people, and then started killing them just this week, to use their magic, their energy, their life, all to return to a true physical form again."

As she looked more and more horrified, Lord Voldemort smiled at his own reasoning. "Yes. I wouldn't be able to kill enough useless enough people in time before the school closed, so I petrified those considered less important, like muggle-born, half-bloods, and blood 'traitors'. I accidentally made the discovery, not known to anyone else, that the basilisk petrifies when seen indirectly, through Myrtle, and then had the basilisk kill her to prevent anyone knowing about the petrification. Thus, I used this ability to drain magic until they moved to close the school despite the lack of deaths, then went on with killing, draining much more magic and life. I stated it openly, brazenly, for then Dumbledore would not expect it to be me, as that isn't my style. Now, no one, not even Dumbledore, knows enough to stop me."

During his speech, Tom made a signal to Ginny, and she opened the diary as he finished. Intrigued and confident, he waited for a little longer. Tom faded from view almost anti-climatically... until Ginny looked up at him with her brown, soft eyes changing into Tom's bright, crackling green eyes [2].

His horcrux would certainly be more of a challenge than the Weasley. He did not want to destroy the horcrux itself, returning  _that_  piece of his soul to him, and he did not want to risk burning the horcrux out by killing Ginny.

Not willing to go into a battle of minds through legilimency, he used the soul magic possessed by Luna, similar to a seer, but not, and began to feel Tom's uncertainty. The sheer magnitude of his Dark magic was as intimidating as he expected. Tom knew all he had would be required if he were to escape from this unscathed. If he panicked or showed weakness, Lord Voldemort would destroy him. Lord Voldemort himself almost smirked; his experience, his ruthlessness, his magic, his skill were all beyond Tom, especially compounded with that he stole from his victims.

Tom clearly moved to stall time, "So what are you doing now?"

Voldemort spoke casually, playing along, "That is really an interesting question. Poor Luna is now having her life and magic absorbed by myself, and I should have some excess magical power as a result within the next ten minutes, in addition to already being tangible and her being dead by that time!" Perhaps the last stab would offset Tom emotionally.

Tom, disturbed, spoke defiantly, "I don't fear you, your power. I've been you, and saw your errors. As that part of you, I held back, and failed then. Not now! I will stop your plans for tonight!"

His own grin must have seemed eerie and out-of-place. He walked over to between the high pillars and looked up into the stone face of Slytherin, high above him in the half-darkness. Voldemort opened his mouth wide and hissed strangely, but Tom would understand. "Speak to me, Slytherin, greatest of the Hogwarts Four."

Slytherin's gigantic stone face was moving. Morbidly curious himself despite already knowing the process, he watched as the mouth opened wider and wider, to make a huge black hole. Inside the statue's mouth, something was stirring, slithering up from its depths. The huge snake poured out of the mouth of Slytherin's statue and hit the ground with a floor-shaking thud. Voldemort hissed coldly, "Petrify them."

Tom ordered the snake in Parseltongue, immediately attempting to empathize with it. "Back away. You have no wish to harm me. All you want is to eat and live. Just slither away from this, leave us two speakers alone to settle the battle on our own terms."

The basilisk was conflicted. After a few tense minutes, it decided to leave, rest, and let the two speakers sort it out.

Annoyed, he charged, transfiguring himself into his preferred appearance, casting various silent stunning spells at Tom. As expected, Tom rolled to the side, but then, less expected, started chanting a modified soul magic ritual in Latin, originally designed to reunite a horcrux with the original. Tom completed his chant, and explained, "I can't defeat you with ordinary magic... but I can with soul magic. Part of the core of the soul is the heart, or, more pedantically, the emotions, the sentiment, the compassion we used to despise. When you cast me out as a horcrux, taking with me much of your emotions, you fractured your own piece, while my own was nearly entirely intact. By trying to make yourself stronger, you really made yourself less of who you once were."

While Tom said this, the magic and life he had used to make himself corporeal was being sapped away by his horcrux. His body slowly started disintegrating, crumbling to dust on the surface. Voldemort glared at Tom, who was starting to form a new corporeal body as the green in Ginny's eyes faded away to brown again, while he was figuring out how to escape his destruction. He could not simply leave the body behind, but that was only because his soul was tethered to Luna's while he sapped away at her life and magic. His soul was still weakened by the recent murders of the past week, and he used this to smash through and fracture it as he had done only once before, leaving behind much of his last remaining emotions in Luna, and this body. He could win another day.

* * *

_Afternoon, Middle of 1993_

_Hospital Wing_

He asked Madame Pomfrey, "Both Miss Weasley and Miss Lovegood shall be fine? And Tom is normal?"

She responded positively, "They appear to each be making excellent progress. Tom seems to be a perfectly normal twenty-seven year old boy."

Albus Dumbledore smiled. "Thank you, Madame Pomfrey. May I take a moment of Tom's time?"

Madame Pomfrey paused, and then nodded hesitantly before walking away to two other students.

He turned to Tom, asking hesitantly yet firmly, attempting to avoid possible dangers, "Would you kindly allow me to use legilimency, Tom?" [3]

Tom nodded, and looked into his eyes as he cast the spell. He saw everything that had happened this year, and took a small step back, thinking it over. It would be best to keep the basilisk where it wants to be for now, though it could later be of use-

But Tom showed him one more memory, of when he had told Tom that he couldn't leave the orphanage. To his shock, he saw that Tom thought of him as a father just as much as he thought of Tom himself as a son, and that Tom had not been angry about the orphanage. Instead, Tom had seen right through him, like a basilisk, and was angry only that he had lied that he was unable to do so because of his loyalty to Dippet, despite the headmaster of the time being too uncertain to fight for Tom.

As he cried a single tear, he embraced Tom in a paternal hug that Tom accepted, smiling.

* * *

_In the Gryffindor Dormitories_

A rat scurried out of a boy's pocket. It was worried, having heard rumors of who was the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher... Sirius Black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that concludes the third chapter of The-Boy-Who-Didn't! Who expected what and how? Especially concerning what happened with the diary.
> 
> [1] Dark Magic can have its toll, especially when one experiments recklessly...
> 
> [2] In the movies, they both look like they have blue or grey eyes. The information from the books I found online indicates Ginny has brown eyes and Tom has 'dark' eyes. I'm changing Tom's to green (good contrast to the Voldemort red and Dumbledore blue), and Ginny's shall stay brown.
> 
> [3] To make sure this isn't a trick by Voldemort. The rest of the exchange has no words because they understand each other, and don't want to dare to say anything that could disturb the returned peace between them.


	4. Authors Notes Upon Focus

**Only Some Author's Notes, I'm Afraid**

By The Shroud

* * *

I have finished my month-long (and a bit extra) break (which I forgot to mention on this story)! During that time, I have finished 'Attack' in "Failsafe". I am still working on 'The Capture of a Traitor' in "The-Boy-Who-Didn't" and a currently unnamed chapter dealing with a Helix arc in "Decision" (previously titled 'What?'), while having also worked on the planning for those and other projects.

However, I realize that I won't be able to keep to the schedule of a chapter per day and a chapter for each of the three works every three days. Instead, I will be adding chapters on a weekly basis for now. In addition, because I don't want to lose steam on the project I've finished the outline of, "Failsafe," I will be focusing on it and saving the other two for when I have more details worked out. I am not abandoning them. I repeat, I am  **NOT**  abandoning  _either_  of those works.

I am simply trying to divide my time more efficiently. I might also start a one-shot series to give me decent but small breaks. For those who are still reading, **thank you for your patience.**


End file.
